A Christmas Dream (Hudson House Holiday #1)

Chapter Eight

B rant dipped his pen into the inkwell on his desk, signed his name to several documents, and looked at Remington when he finished. “That should do it.”

Remington nodded. “I’ll have someone run these papers into town so they’ll go out in tomorrow’s mail. How does it feel to be part owner in a railroad?”

“Not any different than I felt five minutes ago.” Brant grinned, returned the pen to its holder, and sat back, hands laced behind his head. “It’s a good investment. The spur lines alone should make a tidy return on the initial investment. The opportunity is ripe to become a partner because we can influence the transfer of goods from our ships to train cars and take them inland to people who previously didn’t have access.”

“I agree it is a smart investment, especially when the contract includes the clause about loading goods from Pacific Horizon Shipping Company directly from the ships in specific ports. Very prudent on your part to include that, Brant.” Remington picked up a copy of the contracts Brant had just signed and sealed in an addressed envelope.

“You know what? I’ll take that into town myself. I’ve been meaning to drop by the bank, and Mr. Drake invited me to stop by for a taste of the latest batch of apple cider he pressed over the weekend.”

Remington lifted an eyebrow as an unconvinced expression filled his face. “Why don’t you just admit you miss Holland and wish to see her?”

“I never said a word about Holland, Rem. Not one word. I could say the same about Savannah and you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you eyeballing her whenever you think no one is watching.”

“It’s hardly the same thing, and you know it. Besides, Savannah is too young for me, and she could do far better than a butler.”

“There is no one better than you, Rem. Any girl would be fortunate and blessed to have you, but since I have no more inclination to discuss my love life, or lack of one, than you do, let’s not speak of it again, at least not today.”

“Agreed. Tomorrow is a new day. Holland will be here, bringing her own special sunshine to these dreary November days.”

Brant stood and took the envelope from Remington. “The house always feels warmer and brighter when she’s here, doesn’t it?”

“Of course it does,” Remington said, looking like he wanted to say more, but refrained. He glanced at the clock on the desk. “I suppose you’ll eat lunch in town?”

“Most likely, although I’ll miss whatever deliciously wonderful thing Dulcie is preparing. Eat a double helping for me.”

“I will try to force myself to endure the torture of near gluttony for your benefit,” Remington said dryly, following Brant out of the library and down the hall. “Do you want Gentry saddled, or a buggy?”

“Gentry, please,” Brant said as he started up the stairs to his room. “I’ll be ready to leave in ten minutes.”

Brant knew Remington would personally dash out to the stables and request Gentry be saddled and waiting at the side entry he preferred to use. Although a telephone and intercom system had been installed in the house, the connection to the stables only functioned about half the time. A repair had been requested, but goodness only knew when the work would be completed since the company that installed the equipment was based out of Portland.

It was a marvel to be anywhere in the house, push a button, and have someone respond to an immediate request. Not that Brant used it often. In fact, he’d never enjoyed having people wait on him as if he were an invalid incapable of caring for himself.

Here in the West, where the rules of society were more relaxed and the forked tongue gossips who had watched him from seemingly every street corner in New York were few and far between, Brant felt free to be himself. To not worry about social class, rules of propriety, or any of the drivel he so detested from the popular set in New York. The garish, gaudy, overdone lifestyle of so many was one of the many reasons he’d felt the need to leave his family there and not look back.

Thoughts of family reminded him he needed to sit down with Dulcie soon and go over menu ideas for Christmas. Thanksgiving was a few days away, and then it would be time to begin decorating the house for the holidays before his sister and her family arrived. The last telegram he’d received from Eloise said they would arrive on the twenty-first of December and stay until the fourth of January. He’d have two full weeks to spend with his sister, his brother-in-law and business partner, and their two children. He could hardly wait for Bobby to meet Mayes and Clara. They’d have a marvelous time playing together.

At least the house would be ready for their arrival. Everyone had worked so hard to finish the rooms. The housemaids, Holland and Savannah included, had put in long hours to not just clean each room as it was finished, but also add the special touches and details that made each space inviting.

Brant knew the gardener had both flowers and vegetables growing in the conservatory, but it made him smile to step into a room and spy a vase of fresh flowers on a table. He’d noticed the arrangements set out on Saturday had taken on a fall theme using branches, pine cones, pheasant feathers, leaves, and even nuts as decorations.

Perhaps the centerpieces weren’t something of which his family would approve, but they were perfect for him and his home. The arrangements showed originality, and he appreciated that creativity more than picture-perfect flowers.

Brant changed into a warm woolen suit, pulled on an extra pair of socks, then wrapped a scarf around his neck before grabbing his coat and gloves as he left his room.

Remington met him halfway up the stairs with a tin in his hands. “Dulcie said if you plan to visit the Drake family to take these cookies to make up for all the food Bobby gobbled up last week when he visited Charli.”

“I will happily deliver the cookies and the message. Anything else?” Brant asked, shrugging into his coat as they reached the main floor and made their way toward the side entry. Remington snagged Brant’s hat off a rack and set it sideways on his head, making Brant roll his eyes as he adjusted it.

“Does Dulcie need any supplies from town?” Brant asked as they neared the door.

“No. The delivery wagon will bring out the weekly order tomorrow. Stay warm and safe. If you aren’t back by suppertime, I’ll take over your spot in the library with my toes perched by the fireplace, although everyone will likely think the resident bear has gone into hibernation if you aren’t in there snoring.”

“I don’t snore!” Brant glowered at Remington. The man chuckled and held open the door as Brant strode outside. “I should return by midafternoon. Keep everyone out of trouble. Oh, and tell whoever made the fall floral arrangements that they look very nice.”

“Tell her yourself. That was Holland’s doing.” Remington waved, then closed the door against the chill in the air.

Brant had experienced enough of the fickle weather along the mighty Columbia to know when it felt like a storm was rolling in. Although the sky was blue and sunny, the temperature was cold and the ground heavily frosted. The air smelled of snow to him, so he wouldn’t dawdle on this trip.

Honestly, he had no real reason to ride into Silver Bluff, other than he missed Holland and needed a distraction from his thoughts of her. A ride in the brisk air would do both him and Gentry a world of good.

“Thank you,” Brant said to the stable lad who held Gentry’s reins. He took them from the boy, swung into the saddle, and headed toward Silver Bluff.

He would see to his errands and return home before snow could begin to fall, avoiding the temptation to see Holland. Yesterday he’d sat behind her in church, admiring the rich luster of her hair, her slender neck, and the graceful curve of her shoulders.

Since the night of the harvest dance when he’d dragged her outside into the shadows of the building like a primitive cavedweller on the prowl, he’d wondered a hundred times why he hadn’t used the opportunity and moment of privacy to kiss her.

Goodness only knew they were never alone the rest of the time. At Hudson House she was working, flanked by either her sister or Dulcie, or sleeping. He certainly couldn’t approach her at church on Sundays.

Besides, he tried to leave her alone on her days off, even if once in a while he found himself sitting at the Drake family dining table enjoying an excellent meal Sarah Drake and her lovely daughters created.

Aware of Holland’s desire to shift from housemaid to kitchen help, Brant hesitated to make the change, not because Holland lacked the skill required, but because he feared he’d see less of her around the house.

Her task of cleaning rooms brought her to the library every morning where he could linger in her presence as she worked. If she were in the kitchen, he’d have no reason to seek her out there.

Often, if he happened to be in the library when she came in to clean, they would discuss a topic they’d read in the newspaper, or one of the books she’d borrowed from his vast collection. Holland had proved to be intelligent and witty, and she never seemed fearful of offering her opinion. Brant found himself taking an opposing view to hers just to watch her eyes fire with excitement as they debated a topic.

If she were stuck in the kitchen, he would greatly miss those precious moments with her each day.

Honestly, Brant had no idea what to do about Holland Drake.

He tried to envision her at one of the parties he’d attended in New York in the past, but the picture refused to take shape in his mind. The razor-tongued crowd of high society would snip her to ribbons within the first five minutes of meeting her. Holland was too kind, sweet, and joyful to be subjected to the cutting, barbed insults he was sure would come her way.

Yet, when he considered his future, he could so easily imagine her beside him. Not as a housemaid or kitchen help, but as his wife.

However, he wasn’t certain she felt the same about him. As far as he knew, she much preferred the persona of Alex he slid into when he was in his working clothes than she did Mr. Hudson. It was his own fault, of course. Had he been forthright with her that first day they met, she’d never have seen that side of him that could be playful and open without the weighty responsibilities that came from being Mr. Hudson, partner in a thriving and growing shipping company, investor in any number of enterprises, and unconventional millionaire who had dared to build a mansion on the bluffs above the river.

He wondered, in time, if Holland would come to hold any measure of affection for him, for who he was as Brant. Not Alex. Not Mr. Hudson. Just Brant. Or maybe he was Brant because he could be Alex, the fun-loving, and Mr. Hudson the reserved businessman.

Regardless, there were far too many things happening in the coming weeks for him to ponder huge life-altering questions like whom to marry and when. He was still young. He had what he hoped would be a bright future ahead of him. No need to rush into anything.

First, he needed to get through the holiday season, which he, admittedly, was greatly looking forward to. Eloise and Dean were among his closest friends, as well as the only relatives he truly liked. He couldn’t wait for their arrival. He’d already compiled a list of activities he thought they might enjoy.

Brant rode directly to the post office and mailed the contract, then stopped by the bank to make a withdrawal. On a whim, he decided to visit the mercantile. He told himself it was to look for a new pair of work gloves, but Brant was thinking of Holland and Christmas when he walked into the store.

“Hello, Mr. Hudson. Welcome,” said the store proprietor. Graham Gibson and his wife, Laura, were a friendly middle-aged couple who operated a clean business that offered a variety of wares.

Brant had been in the store only a few times since coming to Silver Bluff, usually sending Remington on his errands, but the couple always made a point of greeting him when he walked in, as well as at church if they caught him before he left after the service.

“How does this day find you, Mr. Hudson?” Laura Gibson asked. She was short and plump with a ready smile and a gentle manner that seemed to put everyone at ease.

“Very well, Mrs. Gibson. How are you faring in this cooler weather?” He smiled and took a step closer to the counter where they both stood. It appeared Laura had been stocking a wooden case that held various colors of thread while her husband polished the glass chimneys of new oil lamps.

“We’re getting along just fine. Before we know it, there’ll be a foot of snow on the ground, and everyone will be bustling about with Christmas drawing near,” Graham said.

“I noted earlier the air felt like it might snow.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me a bit.” Graham glanced outside through the paned windows of the storefront, then returned to polishing the lamp chimney he held in his left hand.

“Is there anything we can help you with today, Mr. Hudson?” Laura asked as she started to step from behind the counter to assist him.

“I happened to be passing by and recalled I need a new pair of work gloves. Do you have any in stock this size?” He held up his hand with a broad palm and long sturdy fingers. His father had once commented his hands were more suited to a common field laborer than someone born of his lineage.

Brant had taken it as a compliment instead of the insult his father had intended.

“Why, Mr. Hudson. Look at the nicks and callouses on your hands!” Laura appeared surprised to see them. “You must still be working hard on your house.”

“It’s been quite a project, but we are nearing completion. My sister and her family are coming for Christmas, and everything must be ready before their arrival. I want them to feel at home and welcomed.” Brant had no idea why he was rambling to the woman. It wasn’t like his sister’s arrival was a secret, but Brant rarely divulged personal details to people who were more stranger than friend.

“How delightful you’ll have family joining you for the holiday. If you need any decorations or gift ideas, we’re more than happy to assist you, sir.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Gibson.” Brant hadn’t given a thought to decorations, other than looking forward to seeing some in his home. He hoped Remington and the housemaids had plans in mind. He would check with Rem as soon as he returned to the house.

He followed as Laura led the way to a display of leather gloves. To her credit, she showed him several options in his size, then pointed to a brand of glove that wasn’t the least nor most expensive. “These are the most comfortable and wear the longest, or so our customers have said.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Gibson.”

“I’ll leave you to your shopping, but let me know if I can help with anything, Mr. Hudson.” The woman returned to the counter and resumed stocking the case of thread.

Brant tried on five pairs of gloves before finding a pair that felt good on his large hands. They were the brand Mrs. Gibson had suggested. Since he was in the store anyway, he selected a full spool of red satin ribbon, thinking it could be used somewhere in the house for the holidays, even if it was just to wrap packages.

Brant then recalled he hadn’t thought of a single gift for Eloise and her family. He looked around until he found a section of children’s toys. He liked a Noah’s ark filled with animals for Mayes, and thought Clara would enjoy a tin filled with paper dolls. He chose a storybook for each of them that he didn’t think they already had, then realized there were other children for whom he wished to shop. He carried the ark to the counter along with the paper dolls, storybooks, and gloves.

“Are you starting your Christmas shopping early?” Graham asked as he cleared a spot for Brant’s selections.

“I guess I am. Do you have a box I could use for packing a selection of books?”

“Of course. How big do you need?” Graham asked.

Brant showed him the size he had in mind, then turned back toward the toys.

“May I help carry anything, Mr. Hudson?” Laura followed him down the aisle.

He smiled at the woman. “Yes, please. Also, do you have paper for wrapping gifts?”

She nodded. “I have white or brown paper in stock. We carry red paper closer to Christmas.”

“White will do nicely, with dark-blue satin ribbon. If I pay for your time and services, would you be able to wrap the gifts for me and have them delivered to the house sometime in the next week or two?”

“Of course. I’d be pleased to do that, Mr. Hudson.” Laura stopped as he looked at the toys.

He’d give Bobby one of the arks, along with a storybook, and for Charli Drake, he chose the fanciest doll in the frilliest dress. “Are there more clothes for the doll?”

“Yes. This little trunk has quite an assortment.” Laura opened a small wooden trunk painted with pink and yellow roses on the lid. Inside were dresses, shoes, coats, and hats, even a little parasol.

“I’ll take the doll and trunk, another ark, and two of those storybooks with the collection of children’s stories.”

“Yes, Mr. Hudson,” Laura said, hurrying to carry the items to the counter. While she did that, Brant thought about other people to whom he wished to give gifts.

Holland’s gift had to be special and required more thought, but he could see to the rest of his shopping.

“Here’s that box, Mr. Hudson,” Graham said, handing him a small wooden crate with a sliding lid.

“This is perfect. Thank you, Mr. Gibson.” Brant filled the box with books he thought the Drake family would enjoy. Then he added a stereoscope with a box of assorted photo cards he knew they’d like. It would be something the entire family could take pleasure in using.

He purchased gloves for Mr. Drake and all three of his sons, then asked Laura to stuff the gloves with blue bandanas. For Savannah, Mrs. Drake, and Dulcie he chose soft woolen scarves with matching mittens that were made by a local woman.

Dean’s great-grandfather had started the family’s shipping empire with one boat, of which he’d been captain. A finely crafted nautical sextant would be an ideal gift for Dean. Brant took the sextant nestled in a wood case to the front counter and inquired if anyone in town did special engraving, then made arrangements for Mr. Gibson to drop it off with an engraver who would add the Pacific Horizon Shipping Company emblem to the lid of the case.

Brant landed on a gift idea for Eloise, and concluded he’d create something similar for Holland. He loved to sketch—when he had time, which wasn’t often—and Eloise had begged him for a drawing the last time he’d been in San Francisco. He selected two gilded picture frames, intending to draw something for Eloise and for Holland.

The only one left on his list was Remington, and Brant hadn’t seen a single thing in the store that would do for his friend, but he did have a gift in mind. One he thought would be perfect, if Rem would accept it.

Satisfied with his shopping, Brant returned to the counter and the pile of purchases.

Laura set a stack of blank cards, like one would use as a calling card, in front of him, along with a fountain pen. Brant had tried to use a few previously, but preferred an inkwell.

“If you write the names of each recipient on the cards, I will attach them to the appropriate gift when I wrap them,” Laura said.

“Brilliant, Mrs. Gibson. Thank you.” Brant began writing names on the cards, fascinated with the Waterman fountain pen as he worked.

“Anything else?” Graham asked when he handed his wife the last of the purchases and she tucked a card into a pair of gloves for Mr. Drake.

“I’ll buy a box of pens, a spool of dark-blue ribbon for wrapping the gifts, and a sack of assorted penny candy, please.”

“A box of pens?” Laura asked, as though she’d misheard him.

Brant nodded, holding up the pen in his hand. “I fear my inkwell has just met its demise. These pens are a wonder!”

Laura laughed and went to retrieve the pens. They didn’t have a full box in their inventory, but Brant bought a dozen pens and asked them to order another two dozen. They were so handy, he intended to keep them everywhere. He wondered if Dean had tried them. He’d give one to him, and make sure Remington had a supply of them as well.

“Don’t forget to add the charge for wrapping the gifts and delivering them,” he said when Graham gave him the total.

“It’s already added in, Mr. Hudson. We both are most grateful to you for your business.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Gibson, and Mrs. Gibson. I’m thankful you carry such a fine selection of goods and are willing to wrap the gifts for me. Left to my own devices, they would be poorly presented or not wrapped at all.”

“We’ll have these delivered next week. If you want to add anything to the delivery, let us know at church, or have Mr. Monroe get word to us.”

“I will do that.” Brant paid for his purchases, tucked the bag of candy in his pocket along with the new pair of gloves, and left with a jaunty wave. He felt almost giddy after his shopping excursion. He couldn’t recall ever purchasing gifts for anyone before. It was a heady, wonderful feeling, and he concluded he’d no longer send Remington to buy what was needed when he could see to it himself and derive the pleasure that came in the choosing of presents for a specific recipient.

He walked outside and nearly ran into Holland and Savannah as they were about to enter the mercantile. Their cheeks and noses were pink from the cold, but they both wore broad smiles as they stood with their arms interlocked, each of them holding an empty basket they no doubt planned to fill in the mercantile.

“Mr. Hudson! What brings you to Silver Bluff today?” Savannah asked as they stood outside the mercantile. The breeze had picked up, and the air carried a definite bite of snow.

“I had some errands to attend to, and I needed a new pair of work gloves. They have quite a fine selection here.”

“They do. We were on our way to pick up a few things for Mama,” Savannah said, then appeared to nudge Holland since she’d done nothing more than study him. “Holland is helping her make applesauce today, and I have the propitious task of mending socks.”

Brant chuckled. “I would never have thought to describe mending socks in such a manner, but, then again, I’ve never mended a sock. Is it hard?”

Savannah shook her head. “Not at all. Holland detests the chore, but I find it relaxing.”

“I don’t detest it. There are merely eight hundred and seventy-three other things I’d rather do than sit and darn socks,” Holland said.

Brant’s smile widened. “Are you in a hurry? Have you eaten lunch?”

“No and no,” Holland said, looking to Savannah. “Mama told us to take our time, and we considered eating lunch at the hotel but hadn’t yet arrived at a decision.”

“I’m starving, and the hotel sounds perfect. Might I request the presence of the lovely Drake sisters as companions for a meal? If I insist, then I must buy your lunch.”

Holland glanced at Savannah, who nodded enthusiastically, then she smiled at Brant. “We accept the invitation, kind sir.”

Brant held out an arm to each girl. Holland stepped next to him on his right side, while Savannah took the left. He asked questions about the farm as they walked across the street and down the block to the hotel’s dining room.

“Mr. Hudson! What a pleasant surprise to see you. Please, follow me,” the dining room manager said, leading the way to a table where Brant and Remington had frequently dined when they’d stayed at the hotel, which was often in the past three years. The secluded table in a corner with a view out of the window of the river rolling by below them offered a quiet place to dine and enjoy a meal.

Brant helped Holland then Savannah remove their coats and seated them before he shed his coat and hat and settled into the chair across the table from the sisters.

“What did you say your mother is making today? Apple something?”

“Applesauce,” Savannah said, accepting the menu the waiter held out to her.

Brant already knew what he wanted to order without looking at the menu, but he took one and quickly glanced through it while Holland and Savannah studied theirs. He assumed they didn’t have frequent opportunities to dine out, and hoped their experience would be one they both enjoyed.

The waiter brought a china teapot of Brant’s preferred tea, as well as three glasses of water.

“Thank you, George,” Brant said when the man set the beverages on the table. He looked to the Drake women. “Do you know what you’d like to order?”

Holland glanced at her sister, then nodded. “I believe we do.” She shifted her gaze from Brant to the waiter. “I’d like the pork chops, please.”

“Excellent choice, Miss Drake. And for the other Miss Drake?” he asked.

It was then Brant realized the young man had likely gone to school with the girls, or was familiar with them from growing up in the same town.

Savannah gave her menu one last glance, then handed it to George. “I’d like to try the ham steak.”

“Very good, miss. And for you, Mr. Hudson?”

Brant handed George his menu. “The usual, please. Thank you.”

The young man nodded and hurried off in the direction of the kitchen.

Holland took charge of pouring three cups of the steaming tea. Brant grinned when she stirred a heaping spoonful of sugar into hers and Savannah did the same.

“This tea is delicious,” Holland said after she’d taken a sip. “What is it? Do you know? It almost tastes like Christmas in a cup.”

Brant nodded and took a sip. “Black tea leaves are blended with cinnamon, sweet clove, and orange rind. It’s been my favorite of all the teas I’ve tried here in Silver Bluff. In fact, I had Remington order some tea for the house. It should arrive soon, I would think.”

“It’s very good, sir,” Savannah said, still formal around him, even though the rest of her family had ceased acting as though he were royalty visiting whenever he dropped by their home.

Except for Holland.

Brant wasn’t sure how to categorize her behavior in his presence. He supposed part of her reaction depended on where they were and who was around. He most enjoyed time with her when she seemed to forget she was his employee, and remembered they were friends.

“How does your father’s latest batch of cider taste?”

Holland wrinkled her nose. “Consider yourself fortunate you weren’t around and forced to sample it.”

“It was awful,” Savannah said, making a face that caused Brant to laugh.

“What did it taste like?”

“Watery rotten apples with a dash of cinnamon.” Holland grimaced. “Mama asked him if he’d boiled dirty socks and added the liquid to the cider.”

Brant smiled. “I’m sure your father appreciated the commentary on his creation.”

“Hardly. Mama thought it might be good if we left him in peace for a little while, hence our trip into town,” Holland said.

As they waited for their food, Brant asked the sisters about various townspeople, including the pastor of the church—a man who offered thoughtful and often thought-provoking sermons, but whom Brant didn’t feel he knew well.

George brought their meals and Brant’s mouth watered at the sight of the thick juicy steak cooked to his ideal of perfection. Beside it was a pile of crispy fried potatoes, a yeasty roll, and a serving of buttered corn.

“Is your steak bleeding?” Holland asked, leaning forward to study the slab of prime beef on his plate.

“It isn’t bleeding. It’s just a little pink, exactly how I like it. Want a bite?”

Both girls looked as though he’d offered them poison as they turned up their noses.

“No, thank you,” Holland said.

When the girls bowed their heads, Brant did as well and offered a quiet word of thanks for their meals and the unexpected time together.

The conversation was lively as they ate. Holland and Savannah traded bites of their meals. After much cajoling, Holland finally tried a bite of his steak. He watched her eyes light up in surprise at the rich flavor of the beef.

“Oh, that is quite good,” she said after she’d chewed the bite. “It’s so much different than I expected, and nothing like the steaks we have at home.” Holland leaned forward and dropped her voice. “Mama thinks if there is any pink left in beef, we’ll all die of some dreaded disease.”

“She prefers dry, tasteless meat. Is that what you’re telling me?” Brant teased as he cut another small piece off his steak and held it out to Holland. It pleased him when she accepted the bite straight from his fork. Lest it appear he paid far too much attention to Holland, he glanced over at Savannah. “Are you certain you wouldn’t care for a taste, Savannah?”

“Positively, absolutely certain, but thank you. This ham is good. Papa should inquire how they cure it.” Savannah leaned closer and dropped her voice to a whisper. “It’s not as good as yours, though, Mr. Hudson.”

“The difference is in the cure and the brine,” Brant said, knowing from having studied the various methods when he’d decided to invest in raising hogs. So far, the enterprise had been profitable, and it would keep the kitchen at Hudson House supplied in the choicest pork available in the region. “A dry cure involves smoking the meat, then a long, slow cure that can take months, or even years. The curing time and aging process intensifies the flavor and alters the texture. A wet cure means the ham is soaked in saltwater brine for days, sometimes weeks. It’s both smoked and cooked. The result is a moist, tender meat with a slightly sweet flavor.”

Holland grinned and forked the last bite of her meal. “I had no idea you were a ham connoisseur , sir.”

“You learn something new every day,” Brant quipped, then took another bite of his steak. The girls shared a slice of lemon pie, while Brant ate a piece of chocolate cake.

After he paid the bill, he couldn’t think of a single reason to tarry, even though Holland didn’t seem to be in a rush to part ways. The three of them stepped outside into wind that pricked their skin with tiny pellets of ice.

“Do you need a ride home?” Brant asked as he escorted them back to the mercantile, where he’d left Gentry tied at the hitching rail.

“No. We brought the wagon,” Holland said, huddling into her coat against the nippy air. “Thank you, again, for lunch, Brant. It was such a wonderful treat for us.”

“Before I forget, Dulcie sent cookies to say thank you for Bobby’s visit last week.” He retrieved the tin from his saddlebag and handed it to Savannah.

“Thank you, Mr. Hudson,” Savannah said. “I suppose we’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” he repeated, watching as the Drake sisters dashed inside the warmth of the store.

He had no other reason to linger in town, so he untied Gentry’s reins, swung onto the horse, and had just turned the corner to ride out of town when he heard someone calling his name. He spun the horse around and noticed one of the messenger boys from the depot racing toward him.

“Mr. Hudson!” the boy called, waving a hand over his head.

“What is it, Tommy?” he asked, hurrying toward the boy who stopped and bent forward to catch his breath.

“There’s a bunch of people at the depot asking for you. She said to give you this.” The boy held out an embossed calling card with his sister’s name printed in the center of the expensive paper.

“Eloise is here?” Brant glanced from the card to the boy. “The woman who gave this to you, does she have dark hair, and blue eyes, and looks like me?”

The boy nodded. “Yes, sir. She has a little boy and girl with her, and several other people.”

Brant had no idea who the other people might be, but he was both elated and concerned by the reason his sister had arrived in town so unexpectedly.

“How many people are with her, Tommy?”

“Besides the kids, I think there were half a dozen, maybe more.”

Brant wondered who had tagged along with Eloise, but he supposed he’d soon know. It wouldn’t surprise him if she’d dragged half of her household staff with her.

He took a five-dollar gold coin from his pocket and tossed it to Tommy. “Would you run to the livery and have them bring two carriages, buggies, or whatever they have to hold that many people, preferably enclosed, along with a wagon for their baggage, and tell them we’ll need a driver for each conveyance? Tell them to put it on my account and charge me double if they can be at the depot in twenty minutes or less. If you do that, you can keep that coin, Tommy.”

“Yes, sir!” Tommy took off at a run for the livery stable, while Brant turned and headed for the train station. He left Gentry tied outside and hurried into the warmth of the depot building, immediately spying Eloise as she held Clara in her arms while Mayes sat beside his nanny on a bench.

“Eloise!”

His sister spun around and offered him a relieved smile. He wrapped his arms around her, giving her a welcoming hug until Clara, her three-year-old, fussed.

“You’re smooshing me, Uncle Bant!” Clara declared, shoving at his chest.

“Oh, I beg your pardon, Clara.” He kissed his niece’s plump little cheek, then looked to his sister for an explanation. “What in the world brings you to Silver Bluff a month ahead of schedule?”

“Dean’s uncle on his mother’s side is not well. He went to say his goodbyes. The children and I decided rather than sit home alone, we’d spend the time with you. Dean will come straight here when he returns from New York, rather than go to San Francisco and then make the journey north.” Eloise patted his arm. “It’s so, so good to see you, Brant. What about you seems different?”

“Nothing, I’m sure.” He wasn’t about to admit to his sister he’d fallen in love. “You know I hired a cook, and she’s wonderful. Maybe I put on weight and didn’t realize it.”

Eloise shook her head, making the burgundy plume on her hat twitch like a nervous chicken. “No, that isn’t it. In truth, you look as fit and hearty as I’ve ever seen you. This Oregon country air and hard labor seem to agree with you, little brother. I’m most relieved the station boy was able to locate you. My excitement at surprising you outweighed my sense, evidently, because I gave no thought as to how we’d traverse to your home from town, or even how to find it.”

Brant grinned. “Most anyone in town could point you in the right direction. It’s about a thirty-minute carriage ride from here to there. Do the children need to eat or anything before we depart?”

“No. We ate on the train. Other than loading our baggage, we are ready to depart. I’m so looking forward to finally seeing Hudson House.” Eloise shifted Clara and squeezed his hand. “I hope it will not be an undue burden that we arrived unannounced.”

“Not at all. We finished the bedrooms recently, and we have plenty of food on hand. It appears you brought enough staff to attend to your needs.” He tipped his head toward three women he didn’t recognize and two young men who looked familiar, but he had no recollection of their names. He did know the children’s nanny, and the seventh member of the party was Eloise’s lady’s maid. Eloise never went anywhere without Lila.

“Oh, they aren’t all my staff, Brant. I brought you an experienced head of housekeeping, a parlormaid and a scullery maid to help in the kitchen, as well as two young men I believe should train with Monroe. If you expect him to manage your estate as well as serve as your personal butler, it’s too big of a burden. These two are anxious to train with him, because Remington Monroe is their uncle.”

“What?” Brant turned and studied the two good-looking tall young men who were clearly brothers. After a closer study, he could see they had the Monroe chin and eyes. “They can’t possibly be Kari’s boys. When did they grow up?”

“Time passes for us all, brother dear.” Eloise motioned for the two young men to step closer. “Brant Hudson, I’m pleased to reintroduce you to Dalton and Gareth Steele.”

Brant reached out and shook the hands of the young men who did bear some resemblance to Remington. “I knew your mother when we were growing up. How is Kari? And your father?”

“Both very well, sir. Mama sent her regards and a letter we have in our bags,” said the one Brant thought was Dalton. “We’re most pleased to be here and are thrilled at the opportunity to work with Uncle Remington.”

“He’ll be so happy to see you boys.” Brant glanced outside and saw a wagon and two carriages pull up in front of the depot. Tommy hopped out of one of the carriages and waved at Brant through the window. “It appears your transportation has arrived. Might you Steele boys help load the baggage?”

“Happy to, sir.” It took only minutes to load all the trunks and baggage in the wagon. The larger carriage was filled with the staff, while Eloise, her two children, and the nanny occupied the smaller carriage.

“I’ll see you at the house when you arrive,” Brant said to his sister, then motioned for the driver to head out.

He swung onto the back of Gentry, made a quick stop at the livery to pay for the rentals along with a generous tip, then he raced out of town. Rather than travel along the scenic winding road, he headed out to the Drake farm, and cut through the adjoining orchard.

In a matter of minutes, he pulled Gentry to a stop outside the stable and let the head of the stable know conveyances full of guests and baggage would arrive shortly, then dashed into the house through the back door, startling Dulcie as she lifted a spice cake from the oven.

“Don’t drop it,” he cautioned as she gasped and jumped. The cake pan fell from her grasp, but Brant grabbed a towel from the worktable and managed to catch it before it hit the floor.

“Mr. Hudson! You gave me a start,” Dulcie said with her hand pressed to her throat. “Has something tragic occurred?”

“Not at all,” he said, setting the pan on a folded cloth pad to cool, then handed Dulcie the towel. “However, ten unexpected people are arriving any minute. My sister has come a month early and brought the children, their nanny, a lady’s maid, as well as a head housekeeper, a housemaid, a scullery maid, and two young men for Remington to train.”

“Oh!” Dulcie’s eyes widened in shock before she began setting out mixing bowls on the worktable. “Supper won’t be fancy, but I can make plenty.”

“That’s all I ask. I can send one of the maids in to help you. Serena and Trinity are here today, aren’t they?”

Dulcie nodded. “They are, but they’ll have their hands full getting everyone settled in rooms. Thank heaven Savannah and Holland finished setting up the last bedroom on Saturday.” She glanced over her shoulder at Brant. “I sent Bobby downstairs to take a nap, but he’s likely playing in our room. I know I shouldn’t ask, but could you tell him I need his help? He can handle some of the smaller tasks.”

“I’m happy to do that since it is my unannounced company that is causing the frenzy of activity here.” Brant raced down the narrow back stairs so fast he nearly missed the last three steps and had to catch himself on the banister.

He opened the door to Dulcie’s room to find Bobby sitting on the floor, galloping a crudely carved wooden toy horse across the rug.

The child looked up when Brant stepped into the room. Bobby hopped up and stood with his feet together, shoulders back, as though Brant was a general and he were the lone soldier at his command.

“Your mother would like you to help her, Bobby. Do you need a ride up the stairs?” Brant asked.

The child grinned and nodded his head. “Yes, please!”

Brant bent down and Bobby scrambled onto his back, wrapping his little arms around his neck as Brant straightened. He braced the child with a hand to his backside and rushed up the steps, making Bobby giggle the whole way.

After depositing him in the kitchen with Dulcie, Brant charged up the servants’ steps to the second floor and ran to his room. Serena was dusting the furniture in the hallway, and gaped at him in shock as he dashed past her. He skidded to a stop and turned to her.

“Serena, please fetch Remington right away. Tell him it is most urgent.”

“Yes, sir!” Serena took off at a trot toward the curving grand stairs. Brant assumed Remington was somewhere in the front of the house, likely the library or the sunroom. They seemed to be his two favorite places if duties didn’t call him elsewhere.

By the time Brant had washed up and changed into a suit appropriate for dinner, Remington appeared in his doorway.

“What is it, sir? Serena seemed to think something is terribly amiss.”

Brant smiled. “Not amiss, but Eloise and an entourage have arrived. They should be here momentarily. She brought a number of servants with her, some of her own, and some for Hudson House. I would appreciate it if you’d take charge of them while I settle her and the children in their rooms. The nursery is completed, isn’t it?”

Remington nodded and stepped forward, adjusting Brant’s tie, then smoothing a wayward lock of his hair. “Yes. It’s a room any child would adore. Bobby has given it his glowing approval.”

“Perfect. We’ll put the children in there, Nanny Lewis in the adjoining room, and Eloise across the hall. You know she likes to be close to the children.”

“Very well, sir.” Remington smirked and hurried downstairs.

Brant gave the nursery—an inviting space filled with toys, books, small beds, and colorful pictures—a glance, then stepped across the hall and opened the door to the room he intended to be Eloise’s.

Brant thought the cream wallpaper embossed with a rolling floral pattern, the golden oak floors, and windows that faced the river made the room feel drenched in light. A fireplace boasted hand-painted Austrian tiles on the chimney. Each tile featured a burgundy rose in bloom with green leaves and accents. The chairs, upholstered in burgundy brocaded velvet, matched the curtains, and a floral velvet coverlet on the bed complemented the roses in the fireplace chimney. The large rug on the floor added a warm finishing touch done in cream with burgundy and green accents.

Without further time to consider the comfort of his sister and new employees, Brant started down the stairs, pleased to hear voices and laughter beginning to fill his home.